


Slight Mechanical Disturbance

by Ololon



Category: Robot Series - Isaac Asimov
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ololon/pseuds/Ololon
Summary: An interlude set after the resolution of the case after The Naked Sun, before the end of the book. Daneel is affected by the death he has just witnessed. Baley is worried.





	Slight Mechanical Disturbance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/gifts).



> I found this rather difficult to write, and not sure I hit what I was aiming for or what my recipient was hoping for, so I hope it's ok! The POV alternates between Baley and Daneel, which hopefully is fairly obvious.

** Slight Mechanical Disturbance **

****

_“Daneel sat down queerly, as though there were a weakness in his knees. Baley had never before seen him give way to any action so human as a weakness in the knees._

_Daneel said: ‘It is not well with my mechanism to see a human being come to harm.’_

_‘There was nothing you could do.’_

‘The Naked Sun’, Isaac Asimov.

There was, predictably, a tedious degree of chaos dealing with the aftermath of Dr Leebig’s suicide. Baley had his report to make, his investigation to officially conclude. He felt a twinge of remorse at Leebig’s death; despite everything he had seen about the Solarian’s pathological avoidance of _seeing_ people, Baley had not realised how extreme such a pathology could become; that the man would literally rather die than be in the physical presence of another human being. Perhaps, given what he, personally, knew of phobias, that twinge was because he possibly _should_ have predicted such a reaction.

It was only when he sat down in his ridiculously large dining room to eat a solitary dinner, that he realised just how late it had gotten. And that Daneel should, given the flight time from the Leebig estate, returned over an hour ago. But there was no humanoid robot at the other end of the table pretending to consume food. Well, maybe he’d been held up. Formalities, paperwork, that sort of thing. Aurora throwing its weight around, perhaps, he thought, with grim humour. The tantalising scent of his food tickled his nose, and, right on cue, his stomach growled, irritably. Well, if Daneel hadn’t returned by the time he’d finished his food, he’d go find out what was going on. Baley was ravenous, and he wasn’t going to get anything this good once he went back to Earth, which would probably be as soon as the Spacers could decently kick him off planet. He took a determined forkful, and bit into something succulent that released a burst of flavourful juices into his mouth, making him startle slightly. It wasn’t just the tastes, it was the _textures_ that he would miss. A slow, thoughtful, chew. Daneel would have called, surely? Unbidden, and unwelcome, the image of that perfect face came to his mind again, as Daneel cradled Dr Leebig’s head: ‘ _A human is dead!’_ He put the fork down with a loud clatter and hit the compatch. A robot – one that _looked_ like a robot, he couldn’t help but think – appeared almost immediately.

“Where is Daneel?” he demanded, then, clumsily, and with an irritating flush of shame, “The – the robot who looks like a man. Hasn’t he come back yet?”

“R. Daneel returned approximately 45 minutes ago, master.”

“Well, where is he then?”

“He is in robot testing and repair room alpha, master.” Sudden dread pooled in Baley’s stomach as if he’d just drained the entire glass of chilled water that sat next to his perfect dinner.

“Take me there!” he demanded instantly, not bothering to question the robot as to Daneel’s condition. It would be quicker just going and finding out for himself, rather than listening to a load of technical garbage being spewed forth. Or something with a terrible finality, like _non-functional._

 *   *   *

Robot testing and repair room alpha turned out to be a large (of course) workshop towards the rear of the house, and it did actually look like a workshop: there were hoists set on tracks in the ceiling, a set of three adjustable racks in the center of the room, and the walls held tiered metal bookshelves lined with tools; some plainly mechanical, others whose function was not immediately apparent. Baley stumbled to a halt in the doorway, heart inexplicably racing.

“Daneel!” he exclaimed, his voice coming out uncommonly high-pitched. He cleared his throat and pulled, absently, at his tie. The workshop was warm. “Daneel,” he repeated, in more normal tones, walking into the room, and wondering whether the robot could even hear him. Daneel was sitting in a fairly ordinary-looking chair: his scalp had been…peeled back, was the only word, and another robot was probing at the gleaming positronic brain with what looked distressingly like some sort of drill whilst little lights softly flickered on and off on a diagnostic computer. Baley lost what little appetite still remained.

“Partner Elijah,” Daneel said, calmly, turning his head to look at Baley, who felt a flood of relief simply at hearing that familiar term of address.

“Please remain still,” the technician robot said, somewhat primly.

“Daneel,” Baley asked, coming to stand closer to him, “Are you well?” The question Daneel had so often asked of him, and he’d so often dismissed, irritated at the robot’s exaggerated concern for his wellbeing.

“I am quite well, Partner Elijah,” Daneel said, “However, I have been experiencing some imbalance in my positronic potentials since the…incident – “ now Daneel’s voice wavered, with a high-pitched whine behind it, and Baley took an involuntary step closer, “ – which it seemed prudent to have investigated.”

“What sort of imbalance?” Baley asked, far from reassured.

“Recent First and Second Law conflicts have resulted in a number of unresolved logic conflicts at the level 3 sub-circuitry in the sensorimotor coordinator module that requires re-calibration of the – “ the technician robot supplied, unbidden.

“I wasn’t asking you boy!” Baley said sharply, feeling his temper fray, and the robot immediately subsided. He looked back at Daneel, who was sitting as impassively as ever, his head tilted, ever so slightly, to look up at Baley, which felt strange, probably because Daneel was taller than him. “Are you sure this technician’s up to the job?” Baley demanded, churlishly, ignoring said technician, “Shouldn’t we get in a human roboticist? A proper expert?” Then he winced, realising that the foremost roboticist on Solaria had just killed himself as a consequence of his, Baley’s, investigation, which Daneel had witnessed – and which was the source of the problem.

“That will not be necessary,” Daneel replied, calmly, “The recalibration is a fairly standard procedure, and I had, in any case, prefer not to expose my identity further.”

“If you’re sure,” Baley muttered, feeling compelled to lay a hand on Daneel’s shoulder, which was pleasantly warm and reassuringly solid beneath his still-crisp shirt. He thought, uneasily, that he wouldn’t actually have wanted Leebig rooting around in Daneel’s brain. And perhaps not any other Solarian roboticist either.

“Please do not concern yourself for my wellbeing, Elijah,” Daneel added,  “In any case, your discomfort impinges upon my own, which, in turn, will, I believe, give you greater cause for concern, thus setting up a positive feedback loop that will ultimately prove highly counterproductive to the general wellbeing.” Baley took a moment to parse this.

“So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t worry about you because then you’ll worry about me worrying and get worse and then I’ll worry more and it’ll get us nowhere.”

“In essence, Partner Elijah.” Baley sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully. How he longed for his pipe right now!

“Daneel, has it ever occurred to you that maybe the entire concept of robots might, in the end, be highly counterproductive to the general wellbeing?” Daneel’s face spasmed.

“A joke Daneel!” he said, hastily, trying to ignore the way his heart had lurched, “A bad joke.” If he didn’t know better, the look Daneel gave him then might have been labelled ‘reproachful’, but in the next moment Daneel was looking straight ahead again, seemingly at infinity, a slight, curious frown on his face.

“Would the master please move so that I may complete the calibration?” the technician robot asked, a little hesitantly. Baley was annoyed, but moved out of the way.

“You couldn’t have known, Daneel,” he added, on a thought that he could at least stave off one potential source of harm to Daneel, “Neither of us could have known that Dr Leebig would…do that. But it’s not unheard of, you know. Some murderers would rather die by their own hand than be taken prisoner. It’s an ego thing, or sometimes simple fear. Probably both, in this instance. I’ve known cases, on Earth. It’s not always easy to predict who might…succumb.”

“I was not aware of such cases,” Daneel said, thoughtfully, “I may review these at a later date.” All well and good, Baley thought, privately, if it got Daneel away from considering that it might well have been _seeing_ that Leebig had found so unbearable – seeing Daneel, whom he had assumed was human.

The technician finished whatever it was doing, and sealed up Daneel’s scalp efficiently and seamlessly, leaving no hint of what lay beneath. Daneel rose smoothly and looked expectantly at Baley, waiting for his lead. In just a few days, probably less, Baley thought, with an unaccountable lump in his throat, he’d be back on a spaceship to Earth and Daneel would no longer be by his side.

“Come on, Daneel,” he said, on a sigh, “I’m not in the mood for a proper dinner now but maybe some dessert wouldn’t go amiss.” Only a fool would turn down a last chance at Solarian desserts, he thought, glumly. Daneel followed without a word.

 *   *   *

For the rest of the evening, Baley picked moodily at his dessert; diverted Daneel from discussing the case; instead became quite animated in an interesting discussion about the comparative sociology of Earth and the Spacer Worlds; had a characteristically terse and uncharacteristically evasive conversation with Acting Security Chief Attlebish about ‘wrapping up loose ends on the case’ and finalising his written report; obtained a small glass of a strongly alcoholic beverage; did not complete the report; and picked up and discarded a bookfilm three times. In that chronological order. Perhaps most curiously, he sat, on average, 4-8 centimetres closer to Daneel that at previous times. Daneel was not overly concerned, but observed all this with great interest. The Earthman’s concern for his, Daneel’s, wellbeing, had been immediately apparent when he entered the repair room, evident in an elevated heart and respiratory rate, rapid eye movement, and a slight perspiration on his hands and face. Then there was the hand on his shoulder, a rare rouch, and his reluctance to let the technician handle Daneel.

At times during this case, for example during the incident with the groundcar roof, Elijah had evidenced an apparent indifference, even impatience, with Daneel’s discomfort over a First Law conflict. Then, too, his determination to evade Daneel’s protection, under that same First Law, would be inexplicable to the average Spacer. Daneel was becoming quite familiar with the contradictory and often seemingly arbitrary nature of human behaviour in general, and had made a study of Elijah Baley behaviour in particular, yet his own conclusions….surprised him. That was, at least, the closest equivalent word he could find to describe the sensation.

“I’m calling it a night,” Baley declared, putting his empty glass down and discarding the book for the fourth time, “Assuming I can find my bedroom.” He got up and glanced at Daneel. Partner Elijah was perfectly capable of finding his own bedroom; despite Earth’s cramped living quarters and his intolerance of open space, he did not generally become disoriented indoors. Daneel considered, then fell in with him wordlessly. Their sleeves brushed slightly as they walked. This, also, had not happened before. Baley entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed with a sigh, shooing out the household robots. Daneel knelt instantly to remove his shoes, and, as expected, was waved off irritably.

“I don’t need a damned nursemaid, Daneel.” Daneel stood one pace back and watched as Elijah discarded his suit jacket.

“Do you wish me to leave, Partner Elijah?” he asked, directly. Baley did not reply, but shook his head as he discarded the suit jacket and trousers over a chair and started pulling off his tie, almost ferociously. The man seemed uncomfortable: Daneel considered and discarded several possibilities for this, quickly ruling out mere physical parameters such as a temperature imbalance, in favour of emotional variables. It might be the Earth nudity taboo, but Elijah had grown more accustomed to his presence in that regard; possibly it was the fact that Elijah was attracted to him, which he was not sure that the Earthman had acknowledged, or possibly even quite realised. It was evident, however, that Elijah did not want him to leave: he had become protective of Daneel since the robot had returned from Dr Leebig’s estate, and had evidenced a desire to keep him near. Daneel had never experienced such a reversal of the usual order of things before, a _human_ being protective of a _robot_ ; it was unprecedented. But it did not, somehow, feel as…unnatural? artificial? disordered? (the potentials would not resolve)...as it should have done.

“How long do you suppose we have before we – I – return to Earth, Daneel?” Elijah asked, after he had climbed into bed and Daneel had turned the main light down so that only a dim bedside table illuminated the room. The low light made Elijah’s eyes look very dark.

“There is ordinarily little traffic between the Outer Worlds and Earth, as you know, Partner Elijah,” Daneel said, smoothly, “Nor is there, now, any urgency. It is likely that it will be at least a week before a return transportation can be arranged. I regret that this necessarily delays your return to your family.”

“Huh!” Baley said, “Might get used to rattling around this giant house by then.” He did not sound as displeased at this as Daneel had anticipated. He was also apparently making conversation to keep Daneel in the room. But he need only ask to keep Daneel in the room. Which he must know. Baley was accustomed to the Cities of Earth, to always being in the personal presence of others, and had, in recent days, been almost entirely alone, but for Daneel himself. Daneel hesitated a moment, then came and sat down on the end of the bed. Elijah sat up a bit, surprised.

“Daneel? Are you all right? There’s no danger, now, is there?”

“No, Partner Elijah. There is no danger.”

“Then what is it?” Elijah asked, looking a little uneasy. Daneel cocked his head to one side, a human mannerism; he was unsure, on interrogating his protocols, whether he had been programmed with it as part of his mimicry of humanity, or if he had adopted it based on observance of said human behaviour. The answer to his earlier conundrum, then, crystallised in his mind. A more modest version of Elijah's own flashes of insight, perhaps.

“I have sometimes found your behaviour, in relation to myself, difficult to understand,” he said. “I see now the root cause of its apparent contradictions: you know me to be a robot, but you _feel_  me to be a human.” Elijah’s face darkened in a frown, and, for a moment, Daneel wondered if he had again misjudged, and temper or outright denial would be the response. But neither was forthcoming, only a surprisingly long silence.

“It’s too late for this,” Elijah said, eventually, lying back down and facing away from Daneel. It was as good as a dismissal. Daneel rose smoothly from the bed.

“Goodnight, Partner Elijah,” he said, softly, “If you need anything further, the contact patch is of course by the bed but I shall, in any case, remain outside the door.” A muttered _goodnight_ was the only response.

 *   *   *

It took a while for Baley to go to sleep after Daneel had left; too much churning over in his mind. Daneel, dammit, had been right. In their everyday interactions, he regularly forgot that Daneel wasn’t human. Until some damned Law conflict made Daneel try and stop him taking risks and just doing his job, and he got annoyed at the robot for it. Or maybe it was just the Three Laws he was annoyed at, that imprisoned Daneel's mind. It wasn’t that which bothered him so much, however, as the gnawing sense of guilt that had come upon him in the last few hours. He had ignored the shame he had felt when he had tricked Daneel into exposing himself as a robot in front of the household robots, as though he had betrayed a friend, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He had been impatient with Daneel’s discomfort when Gruer was poisoned; only when Leebig had died did it suddenly become clear that if harm came to humans which he was unable to prevent, Daneel was not only uncomfortable, he was potentially in danger. Guilt, born of that sudden panic when he had learned that Daneel was in the repair room. Not that Daneel would blame him, or even want Baley to feel bad about it. So perhaps he shouldn’t. And besides, he _was_ just a robot, and Baley tying himself in knots or walking around on tiptoes was fruitless. Except that Daneel _wasn’t_ just a robot. Anyway, he told himself, turning over on the pillow for the umpteenth time, no harm done, ultimately. And Daneel was only just outside, so no harm _would_ come…

He must have dropped off eventually, to strange dreams, in which he tried to find Daneel amongst Earth’s labyrinthine caves of steel; he always seemed to be just ahead of Elijah, disappearing on an expressway, or lost amongst the crowd in a communal refectory. Baley got lost trying to find him in a bathroom area, until he saw a man emerge from a shower stall, with only a bright white towel around his waist; tall, bronze-haired, well-toned. A beautiful man.

 _Daneel!’_ Baley exclaimed in relief in his dream, then realised, as he looked into blue eyes that were much colder than Daneel’s, that it was actually the long-dead Dr Sarton, and he, Baley, had just committed the unforgivable sin of _talking_ to a man in the Personal. Face flaming with his shame, he turned round to flee, but the door was locked; his fingers scrabbled at the handle, futilely, and he woke with a start.

Just a dream. A stupid dream. Except – that scrabbling sound persisted, and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t a dream. It was coming from the roof. Adrenaline shot through him. Something – _someone –_ was trying to get in. Probably through the large roof skylight. He sat bolt upright, tried to switch on the lights and succeeded in blinding himself with the glare as they came up full, then fumbled for his blaster, which he had foolishly left on his pile of clothes on the chair. Which a robot had tidied up somewhere.

“Jehosaphat!” Blinking stars from his eyes. The scrabbling grew louder.

“Daneel!” he roared, but Daneel was already half in the door, having heard his exclamation.

“Partner Elijah!”

“The roof!” he said quickly, scrambling out of the bed, and backing up until he virtually bumped into Daneel, who took hold of his upper arms, which was more reassuring than it had any right to be. “Someone’s trying to get in!” Daneel glanced up, frowning, then his stance relaxed.

“It is merely a nocturnal animal, Partner Elijah.”

“Are you sure?” Baley demanded, although it was a stupid question. Daneel wouldn’t say if he wasn’t sure, not when Baley’s safety depended upon it.

“Quite sure. A koondog. They are common in these parts and adept at climbing. The garden maintenance robots have a clear view of the roof; I queried and received a confirmation from them.” Baley slumped in relief, which meant slumping back against Daneel, who was still holding him, which he did not, in that precise moment, care one whit about.

“Well now I feel stupid,” he said, ruefully, trying to resist the urge to turn and bury his face against Daneel’s oh-so-reassuring chest. He did feel stupid too: he'd imagined some vengeful co-conspirator of Leebig's bent on extracting revenge, for which there had been no evidence - and entirely forgetting the seeing taboo.

“An entirely reasonable concern, given recent events and your ignorance of the native fauna,” Daneel said soothingly, which may have been (almost) true, but stirred that irritation Baley felt every time he was sure Daneel was trying to smooth his ruffled feathers, robot-style.

“Well, never mind.” He made himself step away and went and got a glass of water, then used the toilet, a predictable consequence of all the adrenaline. Daneel knew better than to follow him into the bathroom, but he waited patiently in the bedroom until Baley had returned. He had dimmed the lights again.

“I can remain in the room for the rest of the night,” he said.

“I’m not a child,” Baley said, stiffly, “To be scared by things that go bump in the night.” Even if that, was, in fact, a fair description of events, “I’ll know what it is if it happens again,” he added.

“I do not imply so, Partner Elijah,” Daneel said, with that infuriating calm, “However, I would…prefer…to remain in the room.” Baley thought of several things to say to that, but eventually settled on,

“Why?” Why indeed, if it was perfectly safe?

“To ensure your wellbeing,” Daneel said, as if it were perfectly obvious, which it probably was, to him. Baley climbed into bed with a sigh. Robots! Or maybe just Daneel.

“We’re back to me worrying about you and making you worried about me and all that feedback loop thing again, aren’t we?” he said, surrendering to the notion, because he really, really wanted Daneel in the room with him. Daneel smiled, that gentle smile Baley was so ridiculously fond of, and came back and sat on the bed again.

“I will not worry if you will not,” he promised.

“You are so very human,” Baley said on a breath, reaching up to place a hand on Daneel’s face, which had the effect of drawing him down to lie beside him, which Baley hadn’t intended, but felt, oh, so _right._ “And sometimes almost more than human.” Daneel gave him a quizzical look, and Elijah became aware how close they were. He wanted to touch; he _yearned_ for it. On Earth, human touch was a constant he had never been aware of until it was gone: not just the inevitable everyday brushing past of other human beings, but even the lightly intimate touch of loved ones; hand on hand; an embrace; a kiss upon the forehead or the cheek...And perhaps, in the end, indulging Daneel’s own protective instincts wouldn’t hurt; they might even make Daneel feel better too, he thought, suddenly.

“This bed is too large,” he dared to admit, “I feel almost as if I’ll fall out of it.” Which didn’t even make sense, but Daneel didn’t question it, “It’s better with you…blocking me in.”

“Then I will stay,” Daneel said, and his arms came around Baley.

“I didn’t mean – “ Baley began, half-hearted protest.

“I know,” Daneel said; in the dim light of the room his blue eyes glittered, and Baley could feel the reverberation of his voice in his chest, the very human warmth of him. He appeared to  _know_ more than Baley had realised. It wasn’t like Daneel to take the initiative quite so comprehensively, but, somehow, Elijah wasn’t surprised when he leaned forward and pressed slightly cool lips against his own. An overwrought sigh escaped him, and then he surrendered to it.

“Ah, finally you relax,” Daneel remarked, very un-Daneel-like, with an almost mischievous curve to his mouth; then, more solemnly, “I shall note this for future reference,” such that Baley actually laughed. He drew back and rested his forehead against Elijah’s, which somehow felt even more intimate than the kiss. They stayed that way for a long time, their arms around each other.

“A week, at most,” Elijah said, and couldn’t finish the thought; that they would be parted again, probably forever this time.

“I had not thought to see you again after our first case,” was Daneel’s thoughtful reply, “So perhaps it is wisest not to make predictions." A slight pause. "I should not like another human death to be the cause of my seeing you again, however.” There was no tremor in his voice at this contemplation of even a hypothetical human murder, Baley was satisfied to note. For himself, he rather thought he was selfish enough to maybe want just that, at least in the abstract, but he said,

“No, neither would I, Daneel. Some other type of case, perhaps, one with no real victims.” If there were such a thing.

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps even under another sun,” Baley muttered, drowsily, feeling himself drifting off.

“Perhaps even that,” Daneel agreed, softly, as Baley fell asleep, and they waited for the dawn. 

 

END.

 

 

 


End file.
